


Borne on Cannonballs

by ADeedWithoutaName



Series: Catching Hell [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blasphemy, Bondage, Child Abuse, Demon!Dean, M/M, Possession, Priest Kink, Sam yet again gets his ass handed to him, Trigger warning for religious abuse, unrelated wincest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-20 10:54:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30003792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADeedWithoutaName/pseuds/ADeedWithoutaName
Summary: After a close call, Sam lets Dean choose their next case. He isn't thrilled about what he settled on, but neither of them could have imagined how difficult this particular hunt is going to be.
Relationships: Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester
Series: Catching Hell [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/831153
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20





	Borne on Cannonballs

**Author's Note:**

> Guess what was supposed to be a one shot written, edited, and posted in a month?
> 
> Go on.
> 
> Guess.

They sat in the kitchen, bathed in harsh, early-spring sunlight, Sam with a coffee in front of him and Dean with nothing. After a morning that had been almost completely silent, Sam figured he ought to say something. Even though it got harder with every second that passed.

"I'm sorry," he managed eventually, staring down at his cup.

Dean's reply was instant and flat. "You don't gotta apologize."

"I-I kinda feel like I do."

"What for?" Fast again, like he was just trying to hustle them through the conversation as quick as he could.

"I'm the one who suggested you take the last case solo, so I could tie up all the loose ends with the website. It's kinda my fault."

"It's not."

"I think...you feel like it is."

"Why in the hell would you think that, Sam?"

Sam looked up from his coffee, across the table to where Dean was leaning heavily on his folded arms. He wasn't looking at him, staring out the window, eyes tracking something that was probably Vaughn. His shoulders were tight. A muscle in his jaw jumped just out of time with the ticking of the wall clock.

"I don't know," Sam said quietly.

Dean let out a massive sigh through his nose, sitting back in his chair and finally looking at Sam.

"Look. I'm not _happy_ about what happened," he stated. "Or that you waited 'til I got home to tell me about it, but - "

"The first time I called, you were outta service," Sam explained. Again. "Then I didn't wanna bother you."

" - but I'm not mad." The clock ticked. Half a beat later, the muscle in Dean's jaw twitched. "You and the kid took care of it. Nobody got super hurt. Happy ending all around."

Sam reached tentatively across the table, taking one of Dean's hands in his. Dean let him, but didn't hold him back, didn't lace their fingers together. Didn't really move at all. Sam glanced at him.

"You're not mad."

"I'm not."

"But you're upset. Just. Don't tell me you're not." Dean didn't say anything. "Look, I wanna make it up to you."

Dean shook his head, pulling his hand free, going to stand up. "Sam, you don't have to do that."

"But I want to." Sam stood, too. "I get it. I know why you freaked out when I told you. Neither of us likes being alone, and when something like this happens when one of us is away from home…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "Just lemme do this. Please."

"Y'know, I never in my life thought I'd say this, but." Dean pulled a face. "Not sure I'm really in the mood for a blowjob right now, Sammy."

That actually was miles out of the ordinary, and really just hammered home how badly Sam had fumbled it on this one. Good thing that hadn't been what he'd had in mind. "No. I want us to go on a hunt together."

Dean took a second to parse that, then started, "Does that mean the new normal is us _not_ going together? 'Cause I know you're trying and all here, but that's a really piss-poor - "

"You get to pick." Sam interrupted him.

That hooked Dean's attention faster than the smell of blood. "Seriously?"

"Yeah." Sam spread his hands. "It...may have occurred to me that I'm pretty much always the one who turns them up, and we never do anything you wanna do, and I've been busy for so long with the website, and the rugaru book, so the couple cases before last were really close to home, and then the last one…" He cleared his throat. "Yeah. So. You get to pick."

"Anything?" Dean pressed.

There was a building edge of excitement in his voice that had Sam beginning to wonder if, maybe, he wouldn't regret this. But he nodded.

"Yeah. Anything, of course."

Dean blinked out, then back in, his laptop in his hands and already open and booting. He set it down on the table, painstakingly typed in his password (after a glare, Sam turned away to let him do it), then started pulling up stuff he'd obviously already had open.

"Wait a - are you using Internet Explorer?" Sam demanded, appalled.

"Yeah, I got a little box thing that showed up and told me it was the best browser for Microsoft. Helpful."

"That's not...oh, my god."

Almost grumpily, Dean turned the laptop away from Sam, shooting him another glare before going back to the typing and the clicking. Sam resisted the urge to put his face in his hands.

Finally, Dean turned the laptop back around with a little flourish, sliding it across the kitchen table. Sam sat down, beginning to scan the half-dozen or so articles he had pulled up on the screen. He'd clearly been hanging onto this for a while, which made the regret that Sam had been expecting start to bud.

Two minutes later, Sam looked at Dean over the screen of the laptop. "No."

"You said I could pick."

"Not this."

"You said anything."

"Dean, not this one."

"Why not?"

"Wh - why d'you think?!" Sam exclaimed.

Dean was quiet for a couple seconds, just studying him. Then he began, "While I was outta town, alone, which was your idea, a fucking psychopath tracked us down, probably using the website you insist on having, found our house…"

Sam sucked in a breath.

"Broke our window, got inside, put a bullet in our headboard trying to shoot you in bed, busted your eardrum, broke two of your ribs, gave you a concussion, stained our floor with his blood when you beat him to death with our poker, and then had his brain juice sucked down by our wraith kid."

"I didn't wanna waste it," Sam mumbled.

" _And_ had all the damage he caused poofed away by...what would you call Clarence, exactly? He ain't a pet. Household appliance?" Dean shook his head. "Doesn't matter. What does is that I only found out about this when it was casually mentioned to me thirty-six entire fucking hours after I got home, because I asked about the bullet hole that you all somehow forgot was there. Including you. Whose head it's an inch away from."

Sam chewed at the inside of his mouth.

"I miss anything?" Dean pressed after a second, raising his brows.

"No, but…" Sam flopped back, groaning. "I don't like this, Dean." He gestured to the laptop.

Dean nodded, then supplied, "'Cause I found it."

"No. No, that's not it, I promise. There's just something really...really weird about it." Sam gestured. "I don't know what it is. Maybe, I mean, is this even our kind of thing?"

"Lotta deaths," Dean pointed out. He reached over the screen to tap at the articles. "A _lot._ And most of 'em are kids."

Sam sighed. "Yeah, unfortunately, that happens. It's a rough process, especially when you've got no idea what you're doing. Which these people almost definitely don't."

"What, you think this is one for the cops?" Dean asked. "Cops have already had a look-see. There's been arrests, even. Never any charges, no real investigations, nada. Freedom of religion and all that, plus the cops in the nearest town seem like they're practically in love with this place."

Sam watched him for a long couple seconds, then asked, "D'you wanna take this because you think there's an actual hunt here, or because you think it'd be fun?"

"Are you trying to tell me I can't enjoy my job?" Dean asked incredulously. When Sam didn't reply, he reached for the laptop. "Okay, fine. C'mere." Sam scooted his chair around the table, sitting next to him, close enough to smell leather and vanilla. "Look. Read this article here, look at that: 'phenomena.' We're talking black eyes, bleeding walls, smell of sulfur, impossible knowledge, extreme strength. All kinds of witnesses, doctors, cops, civvies."

Sam was scanning along. He glanced at Dean. "How many religious?"

Dean laughed. "Are you kidding me? Mr. Bleeding Heart himself, damn near ran himself dead to save a world full of people who either hate him or don't know he exists, doesn't wanna take this. Look, Sam - " He pointed. "That article, right there, written by this Shurley guy. Look at what kind of evaluations they're doing. The...the criteria that they're using."

"I didn't say I didn't hate it," Sam replied, "I said I wasn't sure it was a hunt."

"'Phenomena,'" Dean repeated forcefully. "And you said I got to choose." A beat of silence. Then, "Bullet hole next to your - "

"Okay. Okay. Fine." Sam raised his hands in surrender. "Fine." He looked at Dean. "I guess we're going to the St. Anastasia Center for Well-Being and Clarity."

* * *

Vaughn argued all the way from Wyoming to Maine.

"Look, I feel _bad_ about this one, okay? You need me there. I know I've never gone undercover, not like this, but I've been a cop and an FBI agent and stuff and there was even that one time with the other wraiths! I'd be good at this, honest. Hey, can you at least look at me? Sam. Dean. Hey - I'm an adult, I don't need to be babysat!"

Dean glanced at Sam. "If I have to explain this to him again, I'm pulling over and snapping both his spikes off."

Vaughn's mood improved dramatically once they got to Bobby's place and the dogs came barreling out to greet him. They seemed excited by how much taller he was now compared to the last time they'd seen him. Standing next to Bobby on the porch as Dean carried Vaughn's things in, Sam watched him head down to the beach.

"Thanks for taking him," he told Bobby seriously. "Normally, he could just stay at home, but with what just happened…"

"Would've insisted even if you hadn't asked," Bobby replied, giving a nod.

Sam watched the way the motion tugged at the oxygen tubing looped over his ears and under his nose, disappearing into the bottle tucked beneath his chair. Carefully, he asked, "You...sure you're good to keep an eye on him? 'Cause Ellen - "

"I'm fine." Bobby interrupted forcefully. "Don't go sticking me in a nursing home yet. 'Specially 'cause your boy mostly takes care of himself, these days. 'Sides, I got Bela around, don't I? And Garth'll be coming out for a few days, too."

"Oh," Sam said doubtfully. "That'll be…"

"Jo's coming with."

"Oh." Sam relaxed.

Bobby snorted. They both watched Vaughn make a beeline for the tide pools. After a couple minutes, Bobby shifted his wheels, aiming himself a little more towards Sam, and cleared his throat.

"This case you'n Dean are going out on," he started. "I don't know, Sam."

Sam sighed. "Yeah, something feels off to me, too."

"My experience?" Bobby shook his head. "Cults always go sideways. Doesn't matter if they're worshipping the devil, or some kinda octopus thing, or if they're walked around pretending to be part of a real church. Something always comes loose. And this one…"

"Yep." Sam took a deep breath. "But Dean chose it. And I told him he could pick anything he wanted."

"Well, there's your first mistake."

"Cas said that, too." Sam rolled his eyes. "Hey, speaking of, he might be roosting here. We're probably not gonna need him on this one, either, and he doesn't seem to like our place when it's empty."

"You sure you don't wanna dump anybody else on me?" Bobby arched an eyebrow. "If you run into town, pretty sure you could scoop up a couple real quick, round our numbers out."

Sam winced. "Sorry."

"Ain't that big a deal, son. We're bursting at the seams, but we'll make it work." Bobby settled back in his chair with a deep sigh. "'S what you do for family, right?"

Sam smiled softly. It wasn't too long after that that Dean came out of the house, clearing his throat and dusting his hands off on his jeans. He grimaced at the breeze coming in off the ocean.

"Son of a bitch." He glanced at Bobby. "When're you gonna give up the ghost and move to Florida, old man?"

"Soon as you do. Don't make me break out the calculator, we'll see who's old." As soon as Dean headed for the car, Bobby gave Sam a firm nod. "Well, good luck. You need backup, you've got plenty of numbers. And you know I'm always here."

He was just starting to roll away when Sam took half a step after him.

"Uh, actually. About that." Sam swallowed as Bobby slowly turned around. "How's your Italian accent?"

* * *

The director of the St. Anastasia Center, Father Edgar Green, was very obviously a guy who knew exactly what he wanted his space to look like.

The office could have been a movie set, commissioned by a director who really wanted to convey a dignified leader of the faith, kind and modern...but not too much. A good fifty percent of the books lining the walls had Latin titles, stamped on leather spines in gold leaf. The carpet underfoot was practical, but soft. Plants flourished everywhere in the light pouring in through the large window, from the peperomia in the corner to the English ivy slowly taking over the tops of the bookshelves, one tendril even wrapped around an understated wooden cross hanging near the door. Right behind Father Green's chair, El Greco's Christ - almost but not quite ostentatiously large - looked serenely Heavenward.

"So." Father Green looked from Sam, clerical collar on and chin-length hair slicked back, to Dean, sitting there almost smugly in his jeans and henley. "Mr. Kemper. Can you tell me how long you think you've been possessed?"

Dean whistled. "Gee, I'm not even sure. Definitely a long time. I'm thinking...least a decade?"

Green nodded, then turned towards Sam. "And Father Unterweger. How long have you been tending to him?"

"It's been a few years now," Sam replied. "Five, maybe six."

"Six," Dean agreed. "See, we got together back in March or April of '08."

"And you sought out Father Unterweger's help specifically."

"Some, uh, friends all but dumped me on his doorstep. I already knew I needed a priest, though. Was looking for one who could help me out."

Father Green folded his hands on top of his polished oak desk, expression serious. "Can I ask what drove you to seek the Church's assistance in the first place?"

"Weird things kept happening to me." When Sam glanced slightly at him, Dean's nonchalant tone grew more distressed. "I'd wake up in places I didn't recognize when I'd never sleepwalked before in my life. Sometimes I'd be hurt, or I'd have blood on my hands. Uh, I started hearing voices. One voice in particular, telling me to do all kinds of bad stuff."

"Like what?"

"Y'know, suck people's eyeballs out. Pull fingers off. Bite - " Green had paled, and Sam shifted in his chair. Dean coughed. "Plus, I've been a devout Catholic my entire life, and now I suddenly I couldn't hardly look at a cross without throwing up."

"Finally consulting a priest must have been very difficult," Green said after a short pause.

"Ooh, yeah. Took a lot outta me."

Dean's eyes were wide and earnest, shoulders hunched so he shrank below his six feet and change, fright and exhaustion carved in every plane of his face. It probably would have been a much more convincing display if Sam hadn't been able to see the excited, gleeful smile struggling just below the surface.

"All textbook signs of demonic possession." Green nodded gravely. He asked Sam, "Have you observed anything else?"

Sam pulled in a breath, nodding.

"There's a faint smell of sulfur, especially while he's experiencing everything he just described." He'd gone back and forth over including that. The characteristic rotten-egg reek of a demon had been bleeding steadily off Dean for years, almost undetectable by now. "I've observed, uh...levitation, when the demon's in control. Telekinesis, pyrokinesis. Y'know, setting fires with his mind. It knows things it shouldn't, I've seen contortions, I've seen his eyes turn black…"

Green was nodding attentively the entire time Sam spoke. When he trailed off, Green turned to Dean, studying him. Sam knew his eyes would land on the amulet around Dean's neck a second before it actually happened.

"Can I ask what that is?" Green gestured. "Your necklace."

Dean glanced down at it. His expression didn't change at all, but Sam tensed.

"It's nothing. Just an amulet."

Green leaned forward to get a closer look, sucking his teeth. Dean moved, Sam thought for sure to wrap a protective hand around the pendant, but he just folded his arms over his chest. Sam had to stop himself from putting a hand on his thigh.

"It looks pagan," Green stated, making eye contact with Dean. "How long have you been wearing it?"

"I don't know." Dean's eyes flicked halfway to Sam, then back. "A few years."

"That's probably how and why you were targeted in the first place. Evil forces use unholy artifacts like that as conduits." Green nodded to Sam. "I can't believe Father Unterweger didn't have you immediately remove it."

He had that one right; they definitely should have taken it off. It just...hadn't occurred to Sam, in the same way it wouldn't have occurred to him to have Dean take off one of his arms and leave it at home.

"We'll remedy that now." Green motioned for Dean to take the amulet off.

Dean slipped, but it wasn't a smile that broke through. His shoulders straightened and his jaw set, hands moving down to grip his knees. Sam pushed his foot against Dean's, less a warning and more a reminder he was there.

"It stays where it is." The aggression in Dean's voice was buried, but it was there.

"Mr. Kemper, we're not going to be able to help you much with it in place," Green said reasonably. "It's like...wearing a vial of nuclear waste around your neck, I'd say. With the level of symptoms you're experiencing, I don't think that's too extreme a metaphor."

"I think I'll take my chances. Thanks."

Green lifted his chin, regarding Dean, then sighed. "I'm not surprised you don't want to part with it. It's the evil spirits' pathway into your body, they've probably fostered an unnatural attachment to it." Standing slightly, he reached for it.

"I got it," Sam said quickly, hooking a finger under the cord and scooping it off Dean's neck. "It's okay."

He looked at Dean as he said it. The amulet made a solid noise, dropping onto the desk. Sam cleared his throat, explained to Green, "He bites."

"I see." Picking up a notepad, Green used it to sweep the amulet into a drawer. Dean's eyes followed it the whole way. "How many exorcisms have you performed on Mr. Kemper?"

"Too many to count," Sam replied. Which was true. It was just that only one of them had been on Dean.

"And in all that time, you haven't been able to drive out a single demon?"

"I-I think there's actually only the one in there," Sam corrected. "It's only ever given one name. Dandelion."

"Dantalion," Dean cut in. When both Sam and Green looked at him, he gestured twitchily to his ear. "He...talks to me."

"Well," Green began carefully after a second's pause, "I think I - "

"He's been evaluated by doctors." Sam interrupted. "Psychiatrists. Even did a sleep study, they didn't find anything."

"You've certainly checked all your boxes." Green seemed surprised, but not necessarily impressed.

Sam opened his mouth, but there was a knock on the door before he could say anything. He glanced over his shoulder in time to see it open and a nun walk in, short with prominent crow's feet on either side of her crisp gray eyes. She was in full habit, wimple and all. Every nun Sam had seen here so far, and there had been a few on his way in, was dressed the same.

"Ah, perfect timing." Green smiled. "Sister Bernard here will show you where you'll be staying while you're with us."

Sam stood in sync with Dean, but before he could take a step, Green asked, "Actually, Father Unterweger, would you mind hanging back just a minute? I'd like to talk to you."

Dean looked at Sam. There was something a little wilder in his eyes than had been there over the loss of the amulet, something hard and clutching and on the verge of being panicky. Sam felt nearly the same way, but just gave him a tiny nod, hopefully small enough to go unnoticed. Dean broke the eye contact, and Sister Bernard showed him through the door, closing it behind her. Seemed odd they'd leave a nun alone with a guy who was not only possessed but twice her size, but Sam didn't ask about that.

He sank back into his chair. The room felt smaller with Dean gone, the silence uncomfortable as he and Father Green stared across the desk at each other.

Green was in his fifties, hair a gingery brunette that hadn't started thinning yet, even with the salt and pepper slowly taking over his color. He was built slim and neat, had a face that suggested he'd been the kind of wholesome, Midwestern good-looking that would have put his parishioners immediately at ease when he was younger. Just over six feet, he sat almost painfully straight in his chair. Sam was familiar with the pose; a lot of guys who weren't used to running into people taller than they were fell into it around him. Especially when they'd gotten used to leaning on that height in certain situations.

"Father Unterweger," Green began, right after a couple too many seconds had passed, then paused. "I'm sorry. Can I call you Sam?"

"Yeah. Of course."

"Sam." Green nodded, and didn't offer his own first name. "You're very young, aren't you?"

"Uh huh," Sam replied carefully

"When did you take your vows?"

"Twenty-five."

Green chuckled. "Didn't waste a minute, did you?"

"No, sir." Sam shook his head. "I knew what I wanted."

"That kind of dedication is admirable." Green was nodding. "Not to mention far too rare these days...so Mr. Kemper must have come to you when you weren't too far out of seminary."

"That's right."

"And you've been tending to him yourself that entire time," Green continued carefully.

"More or less," Sam agreed.

Green sat back in his chair. It was leather, and real, from the way it had cracked comfortably white around the shape of him. He sighed heavily through his nose as he steepled his fingers.

"We are fighting a war," he stated. "And you've been fighting this battle all on your own. I understand the temptation to mock one's adversary…"

"Is this about the Dandelion - ?"

Green held up a hand before Sam could get the whole question out. Sam shut up. _Definitely got his whole little persona down pat, doesn't he?_ he thought dryly to himself.

"I understand the temptation to mock," Green repeated, after another second or two of quiet. "To...belittle, to insult, especially when you're tired and frustrated, but doing that only makes demons stronger." Leaning forward again, he told Sam earnestly, "You're not alone anymore, Sam. We're going to help that young man, and we're going to help you, too. One way or another, Mr. Kemper's soul is going to be saved."

That ship had sailed, been attacked by a sea monster, and come to rest comfortably on the bottom of the Marianas, but Sam just nodded.

"You're very talented," Green told him. "You came very highly recommended by the references you provided. The cardinal in particular spoke of you in glowing terms. And spoke excellent English, for having such a thick accent."

He added the last sentence almost to himself. Sam made a note of the very expensive bottle of whiskey that he owed Bobby.

"You know, of course, the Vatican has publicly disavowed us," Green went on. Sam nodded again. "Some of the clergy we have on staff here have even been excommunicated, officially speaking. But we still have many friends in Rome. Like Cardinal Coglione. You said he directed you to us in the first place, right?"

"Yeah." Sam smiled tightly. "I knew it was time to try something different."

Green smiled back, then pushed himself to his feet. Looking down at Sam, he offered, "So, would you like the grand tour?"

"Uh, yeah." Sam rose. "That'd be great, actually."

Green led him out of the building, into the Arkansas sunlight. Sam was immediately very, very conscious of his all-black ensemble, considered taking off his jacket. But Green was dressed almost identically and didn't seem at all bothered.

"This was originally intended to be a rather large trade school," Green explained. "Budget issues kept it from ever opening, and meant we were able to acquire it for much less than it might've otherwise been worth. The grace of God."

He smiled at Sam, who uncomfortably returned it.

The campus was shockingly lush for late March, even as warm out as it was. The grass was almost the unnatural, plasticky green of AstroTurf, only the ragged edges near the sidewalks proving it was alive. Young trees were bursting with pink and white and purple blossoms, some even already in full, vibrant leaf. A dozen different varieties of flowers popped free of their beds like a spill of confetti, and Sam could see a sprawling garden behind one building. Vines smothering trellises, tomato plants bristling out of cages, the ferny tops of carrots nearly knee-high on the nun who was walking down the rows with a watering can.

"This is where we keep our patients." Startled, Sam pulled his attention away from the plant life and to the building Green had led him to. Ivy cascaded down the wall like a waterfall, blurring the edges of the windows it surrounded. "It's best to keep them as distant as possible from the staff. So many evil spirits gathered in one place certainly won't lead to anything good, but there's only so much we can do, with limited space."

He led Sam inside. It definitely looked like a school, with linoleum floors and walls sporting the kind of paint that wouldn't come off if you had to scrub it. They headed down the hall, past classroom doors that had Sam feeling uncomfortably sixteen again, until Green finally stopped in front of one. As he looked through the narrow vertical window, Sam joined him.

The room was pretty small, probably a breakout room or an office rather than a classroom. There was a bed in it, mostly just a cot, but with rails on the sides. Dean was laying on top of it, looking bored, wearing scrubs. His wrists and ankles were secured tightly to the rails with thick fabric straps.

Sam stared. He'd barely gotten on top of his first, violent reaction, and his stomach was still pitching inside him on a hot ocean of adrenaline. He waited until he could trust himself to turn and talk to Green.

"Are all the...patients restrained like that?"

"Only at first," Green assured him. "Usually just until we know what we can expect from them, and then we can allow them more freedom. Most of them don't stay in restraints any longer than a couple of hours." Something must have leaked through to Sam's face, because he straightened and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. "We use the exact same techniques secular hospitals do, except that our treatments are actually effective. Trust me, I know how it looks, but it's for their own safety. They're far less likely to hurt themselves or anybody else like this, it's...well." Green chuckled. "You've been dealing with a very violent possession for years now. You understand."

"...yeah." Sam thought of the rooms back at his cabin, the locks on the doors and the cots Vaughn and all his other monsters had slept on. "I guess I do."

He looked through the window again. Dean was staring up at the ceiling, but Sam saw him wink at him a split second before his back arched, whole body trembling, and the crucifix hanging on the wall right above the bed rotated until it was completely upside down.

Green sucked in a hard breath. Sam pulled back from the window.

"Maybe we should get going on the rest of that tour."

It took the better part of an hour for Green to show Sam everything, and he had to admit, it was an impressive facility. It would have been one hell of a trade school, if it had opened; they even had a dorm building, and a cafeteria. Green was only too eager to explain everything.

The library. "Many of our clergy, unfortunately, have had to leave their churches or convents behind, which is how they found their way to us. A lot of these books you see here, especially our most valuable ones, are what they were able to bring with them."

The chapel. "You know, the cross is made completely out of cypress, imported directly from Jerusalem. The only one in the entire state. Unless you're counting the smaller version I have in my office."

The garden, which was every bit as impressive up close as it had looked from a distance. "Not only do we produce enough to feed the entirety of our staff and patients, but we also donate our surplus to the local food bank. Quite a few of our staff members also volunteer there."

Finally, he took Sam to the dorms. It was a pretty small building as far as dorms went, only about two dozen rooms, but it looked like they'd added onto it some. He got his own, at least, which he couldn't help being relieved about.

It was small, white walls and carpet tiles, and a hell of a lot more comfortable-looking than Dean's. There was a desk, and a real (if tiny) bed, and a nightstand with some kind of succulent on it. He wouldn't have thought the window, a minuscule rectangle of sunlight up near the ceiling, would have provided enough light, but it looked healthy.

The backpack he'd brought with him and very reluctantly handed off to a nun before being shown into Green's office was sitting on the bed. Turning to Green, Sam asked, "So, is Dean's stuff in his room, too?" He hadn't seen the duffel, but he hadn't been looking for it.

"We keep our patients' belongings in storage during their stays with us," Green replied. "Fewer distractions make for better healing. Don't worry, he's been told they're perfectly safe. He'll get them back once he leaves." He gestured for Sam to step into the room, smiling. Sam did, then turned around to see Green filling the doorway, hands behind his back. "Dinner is at six tonight, followed by Vespers at seven, and breakfast is at seven tomorrow morning, after Lauds. You can think of us as running a bit like a monastery, if you want to. We have to stick to a strict schedule, especially when it comes to meals; quite a few of our staff members have diabetes, including myself. It comes with a certain age, you know." He took a step back, moving to close the door. "I imagine you're tired from traveling; I'll leave you to rest. If you need anything, my room's at the end of the hall."

Sam waited until the door had closed, giving Green a quick nod and a smile, and then listened for his footsteps to fade away out of earshot. Then, taking a deep breath, he stepped forward and flicked the lock. It was a pretty cheap little thing, could probably be opened from the other side with a butter knife based on the barely-there click it made, but it made him feel better anyway.

He moved his backpack off the bed, stretching out on it. His back was bothering him a little after all the time they'd spent in the car. Laying flat felt good..if he just ignored the fact his feet hung off the end of the bed.

Sam took in another deep, deep breath, and let it all out in a harsh gust.

"Bullet hole next to my head," he reminded himself. "Bullet hole next to my head."


End file.
